


Possessing of a Very Righteous Style

by cjmarlowe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/F, Formerly Anonymous, Strap-Ons, Submission, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a bubble bath and a glass of wine are exactly the wrong way to wind down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possessing of a Very Righteous Style

It's only to blow off steam, it's not a _thing_ between them and Pepper doesn't intend for it to be. It's just been a long day, a hard day, and sometimes a bubble bath and a glass of wine are exactly the wrong way to wind down. 

"Better than a punching bag," says Natasha, as if Pepper needs persuading.

She shakes her head. "I'm more yoga than boxing," she says. But sometimes you need something a little more...active. Sometimes you need to feel it and make some noise. "It helps me not throttle him."

"I'd happily throttle him some days," says Natasha, "but I have well-honed self-control."

"I'd give you permission."

"Don't. I'd probably take it."

Tony and Pepper have an understanding, which Tony takes advantage of about ten times more than Pepper does, but it still applies to both of them: sex elsewhere is fine, as long as they kiss and tell—no secrets. Nothing else about them is conventional, despite the fact that they adore one another—throttling aside—so why try to make their sex life conform either? And besides, Pepper thinks Tony might get off just _hearing_ about this one.

"You're going to appreciate that control soon enough," says Natasha. "Everything you feel is going to be because I mean you to feel it. No accidents."

"I wouldn't mind if you lost control," murmurs Pepper, but Natasha's face is carefully blank as she takes off her gloves. "I plan to lose a little control."

"You're _supposed_ to lose a little control," says Natasha, "and it's my job to let you. Trust me."

"Do people usually trust you just because you tell them to?"

"Surprisingly often," says Natasha. "Do you?"

"I trust you here," says Pepper. She wants to trust her here, because Pepper is holding things together by her fingernails right now, between Stark Industries and Tony's life and her own, and she needs to _let go_ and forget and know that she's safe and taken care of.

"It's a start," says Natasha, and pulls the elastic out of Pepper's hair, runs her fingers through it till the tangles are gone and it's hanging loose over her shoulders, a few strands drifting up and attaching themselves to Natasha's fingertips.

"You don't have to be—"

"You don't get to choose," says Natasha. "You handed that choice over to me tonight. This is how it's going to happen."

"But I was thinking—"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," says Pepper instantly, instinctively. "I trust you."

Natasha smoothes her hands over Pepper's hair, then unzips her dress, slowly, careful not to catch a thread or stray hair. "Good," she says, only when the dress begins to fall off Pepper's shoulders. "Then we understand one another."

And they do. Pepper gets it. Putting yourself in someone else's hands means letting them do it the way they want to do it, and Pepper has already trusted Natasha to know and understand what she needs. Maybe she understands better than Pepper does herself.

"I'm not going to talk you through it, unless you ask me to," says Natasha, her voice calm and even. "I am going to move you and bend you and order you around, and you are going to do it without question unless you have a very good reason not to."

She doesn't ask if Pepper understands this time. Pepper knows how to speak up for herself if she doesn't.

"Step out of your shoes," says Natasha. "Leave them right where they are."

Pepper kicks them off, one heel unbalancing and falling over onto its edge. It looks like a weapon, the way it sits there; Pepper has often thought of them that way, and not in the traditional sense. She knows where her power lies, and she uses it without remorse.

"Stay standing," says Natasha, and the dress falls down around her feet, followed soon after by her bra, then her underwear. "Step out."

Pepper takes one step forward, and kicks back a little to get them out of the way, even though Natasha hasn't asked for that. She's completely naked and completely unashamed and completely ready for wherever Natasha takes this next. And the best part, the best part, is that she doesn't know what that is.

It's not like not knowing what Tony is going to do next. Whatever happens here, _it is not her responsibility_. Whatever happens here is out of her hands. That's the moment, the first moment really, that it actually does hit her, and the relief of it makes her sway, just enough that Natasha places her hands on Pepper's upper arms and smiles at her.

"This is going to be fun," she says, running a hand down Peppers body, from her throat right down to the top of her thigh in a curved line, rounding her breast and the dip of her waist. "As long as you trust me."

"I want it to be fun for you too," says Pepper. "You don't have to just take care of me."

"You want to lose control to relax," says Natasha, "and I want to retake it. That's why this works out so well for both of us. Now, enough."

"Yes," says Pepper. "Do whatever you like."

"I always do," says Natasha, but Pepper doesn't believe her. Natasha doesn't do what she likes, she does what needs to be done. And right now, apparently, Pepper needs to be done. 

Natasha's hands roam her body, not limiting themselves to tracing her outline, her contours, they grip her ankles, slide up between her thighs, push her arms up over her head and round her body from behind to cup her breasts while Natasha kisses the side of her throat. She's so sensitized by that point that she trembles as Natasha's lips touch her, warm and tender.

When Natasha starts to move her body, Pepper isn't ready for it, almost loses her balance. "Easy, easy."

And she is guided, not forced, not manhandled. There's something gentle about it all that puts Pepper off balance in a different way, still expecting something else, something harder. Wanting it, but at the same time wanting exactly what this is. Force has never been Natasha's most powerful weapon. 

Then Natasha pushes on her, palm spread wide right in the middle of her back, and Pepper bends forward like it was her own idea, arms out front to brace herself over the wide and solid wood. Not the bed, then. The desk. When Natasha stops pushing she stops moving, just like that, even though it's in a slightly awkward position, not quite all the way down, muscles working to hold her there.

"I like that," says Natasha. Pepper wants to look back, but her body will protest if she tries. Maybe that was the idea. "I'm going to keep you there."

"For how long?"

"For as long as I like," says Natasha.

Pepper can hear her doing something behind her, can imagine what she's doing because she knows, in a vague way, where this is going. She knows what the endgame is. She knows what they're going to need between them before long, though she doesn't know what Natasha has, what form it's going to take. Double ended or strapped on, big or small, curved or straight, blue or black or pink polka dots. She doesn't think she's going to get to know either, except maybe size. Size, she's going to be able to tell.

"Are you doing to talk me through it?" she asks after a few moments of silence.

"No," says Natasha, calmly, and Pepper hears something like a snap, or something hitting the surface of the dresser. Then something slick, or maybe that's just her imagination. "You'll like it better if I don't."

It doesn't leave a lot of room for argument, or maybe just not a desire to argue. It's stated as fact, and Pepper accepts it as that.

Finally she feels Natasha's hand on her back again, pushing her the rest of the way down, and all at once she lets her muscles relax, feels the tension go out of her. It's a rush. She thinks it's supposed to be.

"Now you're ready," says Natasha, rubs her back gently, then without any other warning she pushes into her. Pepper is wet, has been for a long time, but Natasha is slicked up too and the dildo is _thick_ , not thicker than Pepper had guessed but definitely at the reaches of her imagination. It stretches her exactly the right amount, just on the edge of too much and enough to make her light-headed. 

Then the hand on her back is gone and Natasha's hands are on her upper arms, fingers digging in hard and she's thrusting into her, deep and fast. Then again. Then again. An erratic rhythm and so slowly in between, like each time she's trying to lose the dildo inside of her, like she's trying to fit it all. Maybe she even does, it feels like her pelvis is right up against Pepper, flesh brushing up against flesh.

"Oh," she says softly, used to containing power in quiet. She and Natasha are similar in that way, even when they're opposites in so many others.

"More," says Natasha, sharply but quietly, and Pepper says it again, says it louder. Says it with a little catch in her voice that is not on purpose. "More."

"Oh, God," she says, right as Natasha drives into her again so deep she has to catch her breath, feels her thighs jam up against the side of the desk.

"Good," says Natasha, and finds a rhythm. She works the strap-on like it's the real thing, no pauses to adjust, no hesitation. There is no question she's done this before, though how often and with whom Pepper can only guess. She would never ask. She doesn't want to know. "That's very good."

Pepper grips the desk, or tries to, fingers slipping over the wood as she tries to dig her nails in or _something_. Something to give her some leverage, something to let her push back against Natasha. But she is not supposed to have control here, she is supposed to let it happen, and so she lets go again and relaxes into it and Natasha hits her so right that she has to gasp.

Natasha moves her hands, letting go of Pepper's arms and putting them on her hips, and the moment she does Pepper splays her arms wide, reaching for the edges of the desk that she can't quite reach and damn Tony's propensity for things that are twice as big as they would ever need to be.

She feels used and worshipped at the same time, and that's actually not an unusual thing for her in life, but not in bed, not like this. Natasha's fingers are going to leave bruises, or maybe not—Natasha is the kind of person who would know exactly how much pressure she can use without leaving a lasting mark. And whether she does or she doesn't...Pepper has no say in the matter. She doesn't want a say in the matter.

She grips at the wood, fingers sweaty and still skidding along the surface of it, Natasha driving into her and rubbing her clit at the same time and if there's anyone who knows the combination of concurrent touches and pressures that'll get a woman off, it's another woman.

Pepper makes noises instead of trying to form sentences, words scrambling in her head, sensations scrambling when she feels so many of them at once, a cacophony of bliss. Her first orgasm hits like a glissando, a sudden and smooth slide from one state into the next. Natasha only shifts her focus and changes her angle, doesn't stop even when Pepper isn't sure she can take any more stimulation.

Because she can, and she does, and she trusted Natasha to know that and get her there, take her through it. Continues to trust her on instinct rather than reinforcing it intellectually anymore; she doesn't have to _think_ about it. She doesn't have to think at all.

It's a surprise when Natasha pulls out, just when she was building again, slower this time but definitely in the right direction. She doesn't move, still gripping the desk, bowing her head as some of the tension goes out of her body again.

"Turn over," says Natasha, and for a few moments Pepper isn't actually able to, can't quite make her muscles move the right way, or at all. Then Natasha is helping her, guiding her over, sitting her up and spreading her legs wide. Pepper braces herself and then Natasha is pushing in again. Pushing in and pulling Pepper back onto her cock and looking her in the eye this time.

And Pepper can tell, in her gut and not in her head where it would have gotten too complicated, that Natasha is into this too. That it's not just about Pepper.

"Do it," she says, and it doesn't even sound like her own voice, low and growly and fierce. As if Natasha needs to be told; she's got her hands on Pepper's ass, gripping hard, and Pepper would be falling off the desk if Natasha wasn't holding her there, fucking the hell out of her.

The escalation starts again, not smooth at all, fits and starts, and maybe she's imagining it but she think she can see it reflected in Natasha's face too, that ride, each moment when pleasure curls in her gut and springs out down her limbs. She closes her eyes when she comes, throws her head back and doesn't pretend it's anything other than what it is—an orgasm that physically shakes her with its strength. 

She can't see anything but she can still hear, and she can still feel, so she can hear the hitch in Natasha's breath and feel the shaky rhythm of her hips before it stutters to a stop, and she's still feeling the aftershocks of her own orgasm when she knows, when she's sure, that Natasha is coming too. She feels like she's falling, not just because of the rush to her head but because she's balanced so precariously and even if she knows Natasha has her, the flash of panic still sweeps through, very hot and then very cold and then very tingly all over.

It's a few moments before Natasha very gently pushes her back as she pulls out, and Pepper could see just what the cock looks like now if she looked, but she doesn't. She doesn't want to reengage her brain, she doesn't want to work out the logistics of the experience. She just wants to have had it.

She only opens her eyes when she feels a soft cloth on her arms, then on her chest, and she realizes just how sweaty she's gotten. Natasha is naked, covered in a sheen of sweat herself, and is very gently drying Pepper's body. Taking care of her.

"You won't want to get dressed just yet," Natasha says, rubbing over Pepper's belly, the insides of her thighs, the backs of her knees. _Kneeling_ in front of her and cleaning her feet. It's disconcerting enough that Pepper feels a whole new sweep of _something_ go through her, unsettling but erotic, too.

"I should do you," she says, but Natasha shakes her head, sweeps her hair back behind her shoulders and then offers Pepper both of her hands, which she realizes a moment later are meant to help her off the desk. "Sorry," she says, and laughs softly, and Natasha holds her hands until she finds her balance again. She still feels like she's in the tail end of orgasm, a little breathless and tingly and light.

"Let me get your dress," Natasha says when she lets go, apparently unconcerned about her own clothing. Of course, there is nothing about Natasha's body that is not perfect and tightly muscled and she could probably go around naked all the time, completely comfortable and with no complaints from anyone. Ever.

"I can get my dress," she says, but Natasha's already doing it for her, shaking the wrinkles out and helping Pepper step back into it.

"Do you want me to give you a moment to construct a narrative?" says Natasha. "Hold your hair while I zip you up."

Pepper twists her hair in her hands, tilts her head forward and feels Natasha's hands smooth up the back of the fabric to rest over shoulders, index finger gently stroking her neck. There's a part of her that wants to protest that she's not going to tell anyone, but another part that feels like she can't be anything but honest, after that.

"Of course you're going to tell Tony," says Natasha, reading her hesitation. "The only question is how. You're thinking about that right now."

"You're very good at what you do," says Pepper.

"I am very good at what I do," says Natasha, "but this isn't what I do. And I'm sure Tony's very good at telling you stories. You don't have as much experience."

"I think that's what he's going to like about it."

"The blushing virgin?" says Natasha. "Yeah, I can buy Tony being into it. Can I offer you anything? Wine?"

"I should probably go."

"Bottle of water for the road?"

Pepper turns her head to smile at her, relaxed and easy and, for all that this is exactly what she wanted, a little surprised by that. And by the hospitality afterwards.

"It's only two floors up," she says.

"Well, maybe next time, then," says Natasha, making it an offer but not an obligation. No pressure, no expectation.

"Maybe next time," says Pepper, and pads across the carpet to pick up her shoes from the other side of the bed, hanging them from two fingers as she heads for the door. She thinks maybe she should say something else, but 'thank you' seems crass, and anything else seems too needy. So she just smiles and nods her head and slips out before anything else needs to be said, by either of them.

Next time, she thinks. Yes. Next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this avengerkink meme prompt:
> 
> Natasha/Any (Female) - Natasha with a strap on.  
> Just have a really clear image of Natasha fucking a girl (Jane, Darcy, Pepper, Sif, Maria choice is up to the author) over a desk with a strap on.
> 
> Title from "Choose Me For Champion" by Rasputina.


End file.
